Not Dealing
by bluebunny28
Summary: Dean isn't dealing with his dad's death. Sam feels guilty as hell and wants to help his brother. So, when Dean punches Sam in 'Bloodlust' (2x3), something clicks in Sam. His brother had always been one to show his feelings more physically than through words, so Sam takes it upon himself to become Dean's therapy. But is that really what he's doing? (W: self-harm thoughts)


**Not Dealing**

**So this is my first Supernatural fanfic! I must say I love the show, though I am only in the beginning of the second season. (I watch it when I work out, which means I am not working out enough) I got this idea in my head after I watched the episode ****_Bloodlust. (2x3)_****. I wondered what would happen if Sam let Dean hit him? So, this is a different take, than I normally would, on a self-harm fic. In this case, Sam turns Dean into his instrument of self-harm to deal with the guilt he's feeling over all of the deaths of his loved ones. **

**WARNING: there is a small description of self-harm thoughts in action. No blood or anything beyond bruises though. **

**So without further ado: Not Dealing, my first Supernatural fanfic. :)**

* * *

Sam's head snaps to the side, and he staggers back a step.He isn't surprised that Dean had hit him, more that it had taken his older brother this long to actually do it. Sam _is_ surprised at the strange feeling he got though, when Dean hit him. Like it took a bit of a weight off of his shoulders. He looks to Dean and sees him rubbing his knuckles, a small scowl on his face. Sam rubs his jaw and raises a brow at his brother.

"Feel better?" Dean just rolls his eyes and walks off, leaving Sam in the dark parking lot.

"Come on, Sammy. We've got vampires to hunt!" That plan changes, however when they find that their fellow hunter had stolen their keys.

There is a bit of a fight, but Sam and Dean get out relatively (relatively given their line of work) unscathed. Some bumps and bruises, but nothing they can't handle. The drive back to the motel is quiet and strained. Sam understands. Dean is running over every one of their past cases and questioning the kills. Vampires that don't drink human blood really throws the black and white killing mentality out the window.

They get back and go to bed without another word to each other. The next morning over breakfast, Sam makes the mistake of suggesting they go visit their mom's grave. The look on Dean's face could have dropped Sam right there.

"You kiddin' me?" Sam shakes his head.

"No, man. I think it would be good. With dad gone, it makes me think about mom, and I think we should visit her grave." Dean shakes his head and walks off to start shoving his few scattered belongings into his bag. Sam sighs and cleans up. His brother still hasn't cooled off by the time they make it out to the car.

The tension builds as they drive and continue to argue. When it comes to a head, Sam tells Dean to pull over.

"What?" Sam gestures to the empty strip ahead of them.

"Pull over." Dean rolls his eyes and stops the car. Sam unbuckles his seat belt.

"Come on. Get out." Dean clenches his teeth and slams his car door with more force than necessary. He holds his hands out to his sides.

"Happy? Now what are we doin' on the side of the road?" Sam steps about an arms length away from his brother and braces himself.

"Hit me." Dean looks at him like he's crazy.

"What?" Sam grunts and rolls his eyes.

"I said, hit me." Dean stares at him for a few seconds then shrugs.

"Okay." Sam's cheekbone takes the brunt of the impact this time, and he's just glad Dean didn't hit him in the same place. He raises a hand and checks the impact zone. No blood, but it's gonna feel like hell for a few days. The younger brother had just confirmed his suspicions. Sam straightens up, and Dean smirks. He still seems a bit tense, but the hit took a bit of the edge off.

"You turnin' into a masochist or somethin', Sammy?" Sam smirks back, but doesn't say anything. Dean starts to feel uncomfortable in the open air and gestures back to the car.

"Come on, Man. Let's get goin'. If you wanna visit Mom, fine, but I'm not goin' with you." They get back in the car and drive the rest of the way to their mom's burial site. There isn't much talking, but the tension has definitely eased some. Sam knows that just telling Dean to hit him whenever his brother is getting upset won't work, so he'll have to come up with a new game plan. This is the beginning of a terrible habit.

**2 Weeks Later**

Sam winces as he wriggles around trying to get comfortable in the passenger seat. He had let Dean go at him for a good ten minutes before they hit the road, and wasn't feelin' great. His older brother, on the other hand, seemed a lot more relaxed, so Sam kept quiet, not wanting to work Dean up again.

A few days following their little pit stop on the way to their mom's grave, Sam noticed that the occasional punch wasn't enough to ease the tension in Dean's shoulders. So, when he gave Dean a free swing at him, Sam started to provoke him into going at him more. The pain was a near constant for him now, but it seemed to ease that aching hole in his chest. The one that screamed at him 24/7 that it was all his fault that Mom and Dad and Jess died. He saw the pain as his penance, and a way to help his brother deal with his own feelings.

Said brother has been throwing guilty glances at the younger man next to him in the vehicle. For the past two weeks or so, Sam has been rubbing him all the wrong ways. At first it was just a little nudge and chafe here and there, but Sam just kept prodding. He rarely got physically violent with Sammy, but his kid brother just has this way of pushing his buttons _just so_. He keeps yapping on about feelings and pits in the stomach and a bunch of other girly crap, until Dean just snaps. Dean isn't sure when a full knock down drag out became the norm, but it was like they couldn't stop going at it. Dean couldn't deny that the adrenaline and exertion took his mind off of all of the crap floating around in his head, but did it really have to involve him and Sammy fighting all the damn time?

Dean blames it on the lack of hunts and baddies. Mullet boy hasn't gotten anything yet, and it was like all the evil in the world decided to take a break right when Dean needed it the most. That leaves the young man wandering around with his younger brother, trying to find something to occupy themselves, and periodically stopping by the Roadhouse to check up on things. The period of time it takes until they start going at it has been getting shorter each time, and that scares Dean more than he would like to admit. It was like he was becoming a replacement dad for Sam, and it wasn't real unless they fought every thirty minutes.

A ringing goes off on Sam's side of the car, pulling Dean from his distressing thoughts. The young man struggles to get to the phone before it stops. Dean watches as his brother huffs in frustration and doesn't miss the occasional wince. That just makes that damn pit in his stomach expand. Sam finally gets to the phone and flips it open right before it goes to voicemail.

"Hello?" Dean keeps his eyes on the road, but his ears on the conversation. He even turns his music off.

"Oh, hey, Bobby. Everything alright?" Dean's eyebrows raise, when he hears that it's Bobby on the line. They hadn't heard from him in a while, and Dean's itching for a hunt. He sees Sam's brows furrow, and starts to worry that something's wrong.

"Really? Are you sure, 'cause-" Sam suddenly pulls the phone away from his ear, and Dean hears the small Bobby voice yelling. Dean raises a brow at his brother, and Sam grimaces. He waits until they don't hear any more irritated buzzing from the cell phone, before he puts it back to his ear.

"Okay, so what do you want us to do?" Dean watches as Sam gets tense and shoots him some distressed glances.

"I'm not so sure that's-" Sam winces and pulls the phone away again. Both brothers roll their eyes at the same time. This time when Sam brings the phone back, he makes sure not to question anything.

"Alright. Alright. I guess we'll see you…" He looks for a road sign, looks at the clock and then just gives up. "We'll see you when we see you." Sam snaps the phone shut and just keeps it in his hands, spinning it around, instead of wrestling it back into his pocket. Dean waits for Sam to tell him what Bobby wants, and ends up waiting for a few minutes. Finally, he huffs and lifts his fingers from the steering wheel.

"Well? What did Bobby want?" Sam doesn't look at his brother when he tells him.

"Apparently, Bobby called Ellen and found out that we had been, and I quote, 'botherin' that good woman with our stupid selves'. He wants us to stop our 'wandrin's' and come stay with him for a week. Thinks it will help us get back into the swing of things or something." Dean shakes his head in frustration.

"Seriously? Man, I can't be sitting on my butt for another week. We need a hunt." Sam shrugs, at a loss as to how to calm Dean down without telling him to pull over again.

"I don't know what to tell you, Man. Bobby wants us to come back to his place." Dean blows out through his nose heavily and rests one arm on the his car door.

"Whatever." He leans forward to peek for any road signs and spots one. Dean grinds his teeth and does a sharp u-turn. It forces Sam to brace himself against his door, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep his groan in. The younger brother looks over at the driver and determines by the tense set of his shoulders, that he's going to have to come up with a reason for them to go at it again, soon.

* * *

It was going to take them another nine hours to get to Bobby's place. They had been driving for two days straight and were just looping around when Bobby demanded their presence. So, Sam and Dean stop at the first crappy looking motel they can find and ignore the leer of the desk clerk. As they walk back to the car, Dean keeps his eyes ahead of him, but Sam glances back a few times and catches the pervert that gave them their key watching them as they walked. The younger brother shudders under the man's gaze.

He did his best not to bend over with his back to the man and was _very_ relieved when they got into their room. Until he registers the one bed. Dean and Sam both stop, look at the bed, each other, then back at the bed. Dean raises a brow at Sam, and the younger man rolls his eyes.

"I'll take the floor." Dean smirks.

"Damn straight." They fling their bags on the furniture and floor, and Sam slinks into the bathroom first. Dean watches him out of the corner of his eye, and notes the stiff movements. His hands stop moving as he is suddenly hit by a deep regret.

Sam meanwhile, is slowly peeling off each layer to examine the bruises. His ribs and stomach aren't pretty, and he's sporting a nice black blob across his left cheekbone, a scabbed cut in the middle of it. He flicks his tongue out over his split lip as he takes it all in. Sam stares at himself for a couple of minutes, running his hands over each mark left by his brother. The young man bites his lip as he presses hard on each bruise methodically, hoping to make them last as long as he can. They were earned, each and every one, and they were deserved. This is what runs through his head as he looks at hisbody. His own eyes don't pick up on the slowly dimming spark in them.

Dean finally hears the shower going and lays out on the bed, arms crossed behind his head and jacket flung out over a table. He stares at the ceiling and traces the cracks with his eyes. The hunter's mind starts to wander to the young man in the bathroom. Sammy made him mad a lot. I mean, what kind of brothers would they be if they didn't fight? But Dean couldn't help the little voice in his head telling himself that this was different somehow. Yes, he and Sam fought often, but exchanged blows were never a norm. Maybe a week with Bobby would do them good. Get out of being stuck in close quarters together near 24/7. It would be good. For both of them.

When Sam exits the bathroom, hair still a bit damp, Dean's asleep on the bed. Sam huffs a laugh and gives a small smile to no one in particular. At least his brother is getting some rest. He snatches one of the pillows from the bed and drapes his jacket over himself and tries to relax on the motel floor. Sam lays there trying not to think of all the things the carpet was probably covered in and crawling with. He turns over and ignores the pain in his ribs, a small part of him relishing in it, and tries to get some sleep.

Dean wakes in the middle of the night to soft whimpers coming from below him. He had always been in tune with his brother in that Dean knew where he was at all times and would always be the first one to know if Sam was having a nightmare. These sounds didn't sound like a nightmare though, or one of his brother's visions. He rolls over to the edge of the bed and peeks over the edge at his brother. Sam was curling in on himself, and his hands were balled into fists under his jacket/blanket. Not able to stand the sounds any longer, Dean huffs and slides off the bed. He pads over to his brother and crouches by him. Instead of his typical wake up call (a kick to the side), Dean surprises himself by gently shaking his brother awake.

"Sam, come on, Man. There's room in the bed for you. Let's go Sasquatch." Sam slowly uncurls and blinks in the dark to make out Dean's face leaning over him.

"D-dean?" Dean rolls his eyes.

"No, I'm the Tooth Fairy. Get your butt off the floor and into the bed. Don't want your cryin' keeping me up all night." It came out gruff, but Dean really didn't want his brother sleeping on the floor if it was hurting him. Sam, on the other hand, felt his guilt flare up that he had woken his brother up and was disturbing him with whining. However, he couldn't stop the desire to rest in a bed, no matter how the thought of what could be on the mattress made him shudder. With the help of his older brother, Sam eases his way onto the barely queen size bed. Dean settles onto the other side, and lays on his side to face his brother. Sam's face is no longer scrunched up in pain, and though that makes Dean happy, it also brings a chill to his heart. His brother is in a lot of pain and not telling him, but…_I guess fairs fair? I don't tell him squat or answer any of his girly questions. _ Dean drifts off with the image of Sam completely passed out beside him.

Sam slowly comes back to consciousness the next morning. The sun is high, so they must have slept in. But, it's not like they are on a time crunch. Besides sleep is good. The sleepy blur clears from his eyes, and he reels back. His nose is an inch from Dean's. Sam winces as his shifts back, then realizes his brother has an arm slung across his side, effectively pinning him in place unless he wants to wake his brother with a cry of pain. The younger brother settles back down and rolls his eyes in fond exasperation. Whenever they had been forced to share beds when they were younger (not surprisingly, it was quite often), Dean would spread out and end up wrapping himself all over Sam. It seems that his older brother never grew out of that.

That means that Sam is just going to have to wait until his brother finally wakes up, which could take forever. Maybe he was thinking to loud, though, because about two minutes later, Dean's eyes start to flutter open. It takes his brother a good five minutes to be completely awake, and then Dean is the one who flings back.

"Damn, Sammy! Stay on your side of the bed." Sam just rolls his eyes and shifts to sit up then stand as he is now free from the grasp of Dean the limpet. His muscles feel tight and his skin constricting as he moves. However, he keeps quiet about it. No need to add whining to his repertoire of offenses. He doesn't feel Dean's eyes digging into his back. Sam grunts as he stands and holds his breath when he bends over to grab his bag.

"I guess we better get going. If we don't make it to Bobby's by tonight, he'll rip us a new one when we do." Dean doesn't really care if Bobby reams them out, but it's not something he usually goes looking for. So, he shrugs and picks up what few things he took out. Sam leaves Dean to drop off the key, so he can avoid that pervert behind the desk.

They finally head out on the open road and things seem good. The windows are cracked, and Sam revels in the cool wind that brushes over his face and through his hair. He hears a snort from his brother and looks over at him with a brow raised.

"What?" Dean laughs and shakes his head.

"You can open it all the way and stick your head out if you want. Maybe even let your tongue hang." Sam rolls his eyes, while Dean laughs at his expense.

The road they are taking offers enough distractions that they don't have to try and make small talk. They stop for food only once, and Sam grimaces at the grease dripping from his burger and puts it back down in its wrapper. Dean catches the look on his face.

"What?" Sam stares down at his burger, and now Dean rolls his eyes.

"Sorry it's not one of your fancy salads or wraps. I'll make sure to stop at the next 'Picky Leaf Eaters' restaurant we see." Sam huffs and puts the wrapped up grease ball back in the bag.

"It's fine, Dean. Just not that hungry." His brother scoffs at that.

"Don't give me that. Since when are _you_ not hungry? You're freakin' Sasquatch. You're always hungry." That ugly feeling starts crawling under Sam's skin again, making him squirm and itch for a few hits.

"It's not unusual for someone to not be hungry, Dean. Even a freaking forest monster." Dean's eyebrow raises at the sudden sharpness to his younger brother's voice.

"Dude, what's with you? Stop PMSing on me." This is familiar. Sam can do this. He knows exactly where to go with this. Dean just makes it too easy for him.

"If anyone is PMSing here, Man, it's you. Ever since Dad died-" Dean hits the steering wheel with the palm of his hand.

"That's just your go-to card for everything, isn't it? You just blame everything on Dad's death. Funny thing is, if he was here, you'd _still_ be blaming everything on him. When are you going to grow up, Sammy?!" Sam knows every word Dean is saying is true. Each one stabs his chest with their pointed barbs. This is what he wants. So, he turns to Dean putting an affronted expression on his face.

"You want _me _to grow up? What about you?! Ever since Dad died-" Dean huffs, but Sam ignores him and presses on. "Ever since Dad died, you've just be looking for things to kill everywhere we go. You refuse to talk to me like a petulant three-year old and sit in a corner and mope!" Dean clenches the steering wheel until his knuckles are white and feels that burning anger push its way through his veins. Keeping his gaze straight forward he says,

"You really want to do this, Sammy?" Sam doesn't answer, but one peek at his face says it all. Before either of them realize it, Dean is pulling over and getting out of the car. They both slam their doors as they exit the Impala, and then face each other. Knowing his older brother just needs that one last push, Sam presses that final button. He gets in Dean's face and says,

"What happened to that perfect little soldier, huh? You really think Dad, or even Mom, want you to just ignore them? Acting like they didn't mean a thing to you?" Sam doesn't see the swing coming but he feels it, and relishes in the pain that blossoms anew across his face.

"You know damn well that's not true!" Dean's chest is heaving, and his hands are shaking. The fire has been lit, and he feels he has no control as it starts to consume him.

"At least I stayed! I didn't run away the first chance I got. You left! You left our family without a second glance." Sam is a bit surprised at the shift Dean's anger has taken, but uses it to his advantage. He shoves Dean hard enough to infer that he was actually fighting back, and Dean loses it. His fists wind Sam on the first blow, and with each hit, Sam feels the knot in his stomach loosen.

Dean's anger leaves as quickly as it came. Almost too early in Sam's opinion. Sam is so focussed on taking stock and adding up the points he earned by enduring each blow, that he doesn't see the immense guilt that floods Dean's face. Dean looks at his little brother kneeling on the ground, nursing a new black eye and a reopened split in his lip. Closing the shutters in his eyes, but still allowing his feelings to guide his actions, Dean bends down and holds a hand out to Sam.

"Come on, Man." He stops like he was going to say something, but then lost his nerve. Instead he says, "Let's get going." Sam nods and takes his brother's hand, dumbfounded. _Gentle. Too gentle. _ They get back in the car in silence and drive like that all the way to Bobby's house. Dean feels something clench in his gut when he sees Sam eat the rest of his, now cold, greasy hamburger.

* * *

By the time they make it to Bobby's house, it's past nine at night, and the crickets are singing. There are lights on, and Sam and Dean share a look (their first since they got back on the road). They climb the steps to the door, each young man patting the dog on the head as they pass, and knock. Bobby answers the door and whatever he was going to say is lost on his lips when he gets an eyeful of Sam. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Sam looks down at the ground and bites the inside of his cheek. Dean doesn't see this and gives Bobby a tight smile.

"Bobby." The man's head flicks back to Dean and moves aside to let the boys in.

"You boys come across a hunt on your way here or somethin'?" As soon as the question leaves his mouth, he knows it's not true. He takes stock of the bruises and cuts he can _see_ on Sam and the lack of them on Dean. His eye twitches when he notices the obvious scrapes on Dean's knuckles, like he had walloped on something…a lot. Dean didn't miss the older hunter's appraisal and couldn't help the guilt and defensiveness that welled up.

"Naw. Just Sammy bein' stupid." Bobby stars at them for another few moments, no one saying anything, before he lets it go.

"Right. Well, you boys know where the guest rooms are. Make yourselves comfortable." Sam had yet to say anything, and it was really unnerving not only Bobby but Dean. His usually chatty brother was suddenly acting like his mouth was sewn shut. Both boys walk upstairs and dump their stuff.

Bobby doesn't like this one bit. It is one thing for brothers to fight, but the Winchester boys had never been ones to all out brawl. Bobby is going to talk to Dean alone as soon as he could, and straighten this mess out. He understands that things have been tense between Sam and Dean since their dad passed, but there is something else going on, and he is going to find out what.

His chance comes along sooner than he thought it would.

Sam is in his room, laying on his bed staring at the ceiling. He's doing his best to not move; it makes it easier to breath. It's hard, though, the quiet. It leaves space for those damning thoughts. The blame. The accusations. He can't even remember the last time he had a night's rest that wasn't full of angry spirits, bound to the earth by their burning hate of him. But…no matter how much he had preached to Dean about talking about his feelings, this he knows he cannot share. It would burden Dean more than he already is, and this arrangement was a lot better. Sam would continue to antagonize his brother into fights until Dean's pain fades and they go back to normal. The knot starts to grow again, faster than last time, but he knows his body can't take anymore tonight. He hadn't let it heal before pushing Dean this afternoon. So, he lays there letting the quiet press harder and harder on him.

Dean walks down stairs and goes straight to the fridge to rummage for a beer. He plops right down next to Bobby and tries to relax. He can tell that there's something running through Bobby's head too, and braces himself for some sort of lecture.

Now that Bobby has his chance, he can't help but feel anxious. He knows for a fact that Sam and Dean love each other, no matter how much they butt heads. So, seeing evidence of such a drastic twist in their relationship brings up a sharp worry in him. He admits to himself (if not to anyone else) that he's scared of the answer. _Well_, Bobby takes a deep swig of his own beer, _best do it now._

"So…_how_ stupid was Sam today?" Dean raises a brow, not really expecting the conversation to go in that direction, but feeling a similar need to discuss it. The younger hunter rolls the bottle in his hand as he contemplates. Finally, he just settles for a shrug.

"He…Sammy's been…I don't know, Bobby. Today, yesterday, last _week…_he's edgy and just keeps _pushing_. He just keeps riling me up, ya know?" It's Bobby's turn to raise a brow.

"You two rile each other up all the damn time, Dean. I'm askin' what the hell made you whale on him like that? I've known you boys for a long time, and you and Sam can huff and puff for days at each other, but Heaven forbid either of you raise more that one solid punch to the other." Dean shakes his head, though something curls in his gut as he knows what Bobby says is right.

"We got into a fight on the road today. Like I said he just…pushes. It's gotten a bit worse over the past few days, but we'll get past it." Bobby is shaking his head now.

"Dean, when only one person comes out with bruises, I don't call that a fight. That's a damn beating." Dean shoots up from the couch and slams his beer bottle down on a nearby table. He points an accusing finger at Bobby.

"I am _not_ beating Sammy! Don't you dare say that!" Bobby stands up now, and gets in Dean's face.

"Well, then what is it, Dean!? Have you _looked _at him? He looks like a damn kicked puppy. When was the last time he gave _you_ a bruise, huh?" Dean starts running over all their fights and trying to remember when Sammy got a good hit in. He remembers Sam shoving him a few times…but that's it. How could he…how could he not have noticed that?

"Sammy hasn't…hasn't given me one. He…he doesn't even fight back." Dean falls back into his seat as all the air whooshes out of him. He looks up at Bobby, a lost look on his face.

"Why..why wouldn't he fight back?" Bobby looks down at Dean and sighs as he lands next to him. He didn't think Dean was really abusing his brother or anything like that, but sometimes the boy didn't think. Dean and John never understood Sam was different. The youngest Winchester is…more sensitive and typically more vocal about it. He's also as stubborn as his damn daddy was. Once something digs into that big brain of his, it doesn't let go.

"You said he always riled you up. How? What was he going on about to the point you would hit him?" Dean shook his head, hands in the prayer position over his mouth.

"He..it would always start as something small. Then he would get all tense and pissy. Somehow he would bring whatever we would start arguing about around to Dad and Mom. Like before when he kept trying to get me to talk about my feelings over Dad's death. When I first hit him, he was doin' that, but then he was tense all the time. I figured he was so pissed at me, he had just given up and decided to argue with me over everything…like he would do with Dad." Bobby takes all of this information in and tries to see the link.

"So he would push your buttons to talk about things until you snapped? You'd think he would stop after the first time or two you hit him. Sam's smart and learns things after only a couple tries. Seems like he was getting you pissed on purpose." Dean's heart drops into his stomach. That first time…that first time Sam had told him to pull over. Sammy had told Dean to hit him..and he had. Just like that. Everything, things he hadn't dared think about, drifts together to form one very messed up image. He wouldn't…No. Not his Sammy.

An old memory flashes before his eyes then, one he had shoved in his very crowed corner of 'Do Not Think About This Ever'. Back when Sammy was a teenager and became the moody broody type. Dean had gone out to get something to eat for dinner. John was gone on a hunt, and Sam had been hanging in his dark cloud for a couple of days. His older brother was glad to get out of the musty motel room, and get some fresh _happy_ air. He had stayed out longer than he meant to, but didn't think anything of it…until he had gotten back and found Sammy messing around with one of his knives. The look in his eyes as he ran the flat part of the blade over the palm of his hand and wrist over and over again, scared the crap out of Dean. Sam had dropped the knife like a hot potato when he noticed Dean was back, but his older brother had seen enough. He never told their Dad, but he made sure all of his weapons were safely stowed away and inaccessible whenever he left Sam alone.

Somehow, his brain was connecting that one time scare to what was going on now. If Sam had even considered…self-harm when he was younger. What about now? Now, that his girlfriend (almost fiancé) and Dad had died. Now that he found out he had freaky psychic powers, and the demon that had killed their mother had some master plan for him. Bobby doesn't stop him when he rushes upstairs.

Sam had eventually decided he should probably take a shower. He felt like crap and probably looked it too, so he had dragged himself out of his bed and grabbed a change of clothes before going to the bathroom. He's stepping out of the shower and just finishing buttoning his pants on when the door burst open. Sam nearly punches the intruder, but stops himself, then nearly does when he sees it's his older bother.

"Dean, what the hell?!" Dean stops short as he looks at all the bruises across his baby brother's chest and stomach. They are of varying shades of fading out, but each one makes him sick. He finally looks Sam in the eye and looks so torn up, Sam feels the knot in his chest getting tighter and tighter.

"Sammy, tell me it's not true." Dean sounds broken, and there it is. That voice in Sam's head, screaming at him. Not only had he killed the people he really cared about, but now he hurt his big brother. But he needs to know what he did so he can make it right, somehow.

"I..I don't know what you're talking about." Dean sees the pain and guilt in his brother's eyes and takes that as all the confirmation he needs. He spins around and punches the bathroom door, but nearly breaks down when he sees Sam flinch ever so slightly out of the corner of his eye.

"Why, Sammy? Why would you ever do that?" Sam is getting flustered. He really doesn't know what his brother is talking about.

"Dean. What are you talking about?" Dean steps up close to Sam then and touches a distinctly dark bruise on Sam's left ribs. He doesn't look at his brother's face.

"These, Sammy. You…you got me mad on purpose didn't you?" Sam sees that he's got two options. He can deny it and drag this whole thing out, or he can just come clean and explain to his brother that he was only trying to help. He refuses to be a coward. Winchesters aren't cowards.

"Yeah. Dean…you weren't talking to me. I knew for a fact that you weren't dealing with Dad's death, and there weren't any hunts. You needed some sort of outlet, and if words weren't going to work, I figured this would." Sam is confused by the look on Dean's face. He expected anger at being manipulated or a complete shut down full on silent treatment, not more pain. Though, there was some fire in Dean.

"You thought you were helping me by riling me up 'til I hurt ya? No, Sammy. No way." Sam feels a flash of anger and crosses his arms over his bared chest, not mindful of the bruises.

"Dean, what else was I supposed to do? You're my brother, Man, and you weren't dealing with Dad's death. I was just trying to help you." Sam pushes past his brother and puts his shirt on as he goes back into his room. Fully planning on slamming his door, he is surprised when it meets an obstacles. His brother is following him, and _now_ he looks pissed.

"That _may_ be what you were thinkin', Sammy, but that sure as hell was _not_ what was goin' on. You wanted me to hit you! Why? Huh? Why?" Sam's hands are shaking, and he can't convince himself it is in anger. When his brother doesn't answer him, Dean gets even closer.

"You think I like hurting you, Sammy? I hate it! Yeah, Dad's gone. That means you're all I've got left, Man. You say I'm not dealing with it, well I don't think you are either." Sam shouts then.

"I was dealing with it! I was trying to help you, and yeah, maybe when you hit me it…it felt…" Sam falters, unsure how to explain it even to himself. No..it hadn't been….that…it wasn't what he _meant_…

"It felt what, Sammy? Good? Eased some sort of wound up guilt in your chest? Me hitting you…damn, Sammy, _beating_ you!? That _helped_ you?!"

"Yes!" It's like a blanket being thrown over a fire, that one word snuffing out the flame and muffling the sound. Sam feels like the balloon that had been growing in his chest just burst, and he's heaving, trying to gulp in as much air as possible. Dean's deflates, leaving him wrung out and so…just _sad_ for his little brother. His little brother who had purposefully manipulated Dean into hurting him, and Dean who let himself be baited every single time.

"Oh, Sammy…" The brothers will never speak of that night again, but the two both let tears run down their faces and just embraced each other, like they hadn't in a very long time. Dean didn't even make one comment about chick flick moments that nights.

* * *

"Bye, Bobby! Thanks for shacking us up." Bobby waves to the Winchester boys as they get into the Impala and drive off. The boys had stayed the entire week, without one complaint. He had let the two alone, even when he had heard them shouting at each other that first night, and it payed off.

Despite how much Dean avoids things like feelings and talking about them, he and Sammy had sat down and hashed everything out. Dean wasn't going to start hiding all the sharp things, but he knew Sam had a problem. Sam explained everything that had been going through his head when he hatched his little scheme, and Dean felt the need to apologize about twenty times. They had both screwed up, but were going to put it behind them, move on. So, Dean promised to talk about his damn feelings a bit more (only a bit, because, seriously?) and Sam agreed to stick to a more conventional way of expressing guilt. Dean would take mopey broody Sammy over a Sammy that thought he had to pay some sort of penance by hurting himself.

The rest of the week they spent just hanging out, pouring over journals and ancient texts (mostly Sammy there) and realigning themselves with their form of normal. As they headed back out on the road, Dean gave a smirk as he turned his rock on, and Sam rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. They would be okay, come Hell or high water, and the Winchester boys were well prepared for both.

* * *

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